Small Bites
by notapepper
Summary: A collection of FitzSimmons drabbles and ficlets. (Nothing too graphic or explicit, but some of the drabbles in chapters 2 and 3 border between T and M; otherwise, everything is rated K to T.)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.**

* * *

"Fitz…" she began, a small wrinkle marring her forehead as she skirmished the right approach around in her mouth, "Did you tell your mother we're dating?"

"What? Us? Like _that?_ I mean, that's just- erm, why do you ask?" he squeaked, scratching a spot behind his ear.

"Well," how could she put this, "maybe because when she told me to leave my bags in your room, she _winked _at me?" Her voice was beginning to crackle with righteous affront.

Fitz put his hands in front of him, palms out. "I didn't- Simmons, I _swear _I didn't tell her we were datin'. But she just kept tryin' to set me up with these girls from church every time I came home, and well… she misinterpreted you comin' home with me, that's all."

* * *

Simmons stood in the entryway to the lab, eyes rimmed red, hair shorter than before. "Fitz." The name jumped from her throat, amphibian and strange.

"Mack," Fitz reached back blindly, his hand grasping for the taller man's presence, "Mack, do you see that... Do you see her?"

"Yeah, I see 'er. Calm down, now, don't wander off on me." The mechanic waved a massive hand in front of Fitz's face.

He couldn't breathe. "Simmons. Si-" His eyes declared war on the rest of his face, his voice shattered, his pen _thunked _out of the side of his mouth.

"Simmons? This your old partner?" Mack assessed her, saw the way her eyes were locked with Fitz's, the pain stretched out between them like strands of old glue recently submerged. "Yo, uh, I've got inventory to check." He built the excuse like one of his engines. "You cool here, Turbo?"

"Sim- it's Simmons. She's back from the, er… back from the... " He was still staring, they both were, her gaze carving an epitaph across his gravestone face.

"Back from my assignment." She stepped forward, invisible shackles clanking. For a fragment of a second, grief twisted her features, before she somehow wrenched her expression - like re-setting a bone - into an agonized smile. "Is that what I am, Fitz? Your _old _partner?"

* * *

"_Christ!"_ Fitz jumped slightly at the press of her icy toes and hopped up from his seat. "Y' daft woman," he chuckled, disappearing into the hall. He returned after a few minutes with a pair of thick, woolen, reindeer-printed socks balled up in his hands. Settling back on the couch, he took up one of her chilly feet in his unseasonably warm grip and tugged the sock on.

"Aren't those the socks your nan knitted you?" She couldn't keep the affection from turning her voice to molasses.

"Indeed they are. An' you'd best not steal this pair, hear?"

* * *

**A/N: Y'all do not have to leave a review on this. I'll be updating periodically as I mess around with different ideas, but this is mostly for my own organizational purposes (I just really like to have all my fic together).**


	2. Chapter 2

Pirate AU:

"Ahoy, me hearty!" Jemma Redbeard grappled the Scottish Devil into a rough hug. "We be lookin' for ye a fortnight or more! I was afeared you'd been made t' walk the plank!"

The bedraggled first mate scooped her into a twirl before digging into the pockets of his garish striped vest. Dangling a string of iridescent pearls, he winked. "Nay, Cap'n! I were jus' off fetchin' ye this paltry token o' me undyin' affection."

* * *

Southern Romance Novel (absolute crack!) AU:

Leofrick and Jemmaline clashed together sexily like two irate badgers, tongues battling for dominance, fingers clawing and tearing at their mutual bodices. "Mah word, Mister Fitz, you shore do know how to make a girl untidy."

Oh, yes. They were _both_ wearing bodices. Leofrick spun her around and yanked her crinoline down, knocking over a tray of cucumber sandwiches and their half-finished mint juleps. She flung her hands out to brace against the ornate white column of the wraparound porch, gasping as his fingers found their mark.

"I aim t' please, Miz Jemmaline."

* * *

40's Hardboiled Detective AU:

It was hot. Too hot. I hadn't seen a case in days. The seconds crawled by like a three-legged sewer rat. Then Trouble walked through my door and dropped a C-note on my desk. Right away I knew I was sunk. Sleepin'-with-the-fishes, French-number-five sunk. Those legs were workin' - that pair of stems went _all_ the way up. They were good. Hell, the whole package was good.

"Please, you gotta help me! I got nowhere else to turn!"

I took a drag on my cigarette. Blonde - just my luck. Blondes should come with a warning label. I put my feet up and tossed my lighter on the desk. "Take a seat, angel."

Rule number one: never fall in love with a client. But those baby blues hit me like a two-bit goon in a back alley. "Now, what's a sweet kid like you doin' in a joint like this?"

(Possible title: Jemma Simmons, P.I.)

* * *

Vampire AU:

"For th' love o' Drakul, Jemma," Fitz pouted, "I severed his brachial artery so we could drain him, not so y' could turn him into one of us."

"Oh, but he's so well-formed and symmetrical." Jemma bared her fangs seductively as she began Triplett's transformation. "And I've been wanting a plaything for centuries…"

A muffled whimper sounded from the old museum floor as the terrified soldier began to wake. Spying his attackers, he groaned. "Aww, hell no!"

"C'mon, vladdie." Fitz motioned for their newest recruit to follow. "Baby vamps get coffin'-cleanin' duty."

* * *

More Vampire AU:

"For a Soldier of Sunshine, mate, you've got some decent moves." Lance passed Triplett a goblet of O-negative while Fitz continued to scowl. "Almost staked me twice."

Jemma sat in Fitz's lap, nearly purring. "Oh, why such a grump, darling? I still love you best."

"It's not about that, Jem, and y' _can't_ love me - y' haven't got a soul." He sighed, the gesture all the more petulant because he didn't actually need to exhale. "I just didn't think we'd spend our last night in London bloody baby-sittin', is all."

Lance winked, leaning in to add conspiratorially, "I met a barmaid named London, once. Spent a fair few nights in _her_."

* * *

**A/N: **

**So this chapter is a compilation of various weird, out of character, fake excerpts I teased my Secret Santee with during the FitzSimmons gift exchange this year (the actual fic was just Christmas fluff, nothing too elaborate). Needless to say, she wasn't fooled. But I like to think at least she was amused.**

**Also, I'd like it on record that the 500-character limit on tumblr anonymous asks is terribly unfair.**


	3. Chapter 3

Fitz's kielbasa sausage (and _ohhh yes_, I mean his genital area) was as stiff as a military collar. Simmons was all over that turgid member like The Nothing on Fantasia. His thrusts made her feel like it was the Fourth of July inside her special woman's cave. "Oh, Fitz, God, Fitz, yes!" she cried out, her head tipping back like an open Pez dispenser. "The haggis is in the fire for sure!"

-o-

Despite the sluggish warmth of the steam room, every nerve in Fitz's body goes on alert when Simmons sits on the raised bench behind him, bracketing his torso with her knees. He's fully aware of how naked they are under these towels, and bites down a groan as her hands roam his bare, sweat-slicked shoulders, massaging away the tension he's built up over the course of several hours hunched over a hole in the ground, carefully picking away at the dust and rock around the 084. _Yeah, that's why I'm tense. No other reasons._ Never mind the fact that, due to the desert heat, Simmons spent the day in khaki shorts and a white cotton tank top, which, incidentally, he absolutely did _not _stare at when she went to drink from the canteen and inadvertently soaked her front. _Thank you very much._

* * *

"Cooking's just chemistry you can eat, Fitz." He nodded, mouth full of empanada, and she kept going. "Honestly, if you'd let me teach you, I'm sure you'd be brilliant at it!" Fitz finally swallowed and gave her a cocky grin. "Relax, Jem. I ate nothing but ramen at MIT, and I turned out fine." "Well, at least you learned to brew your own beer," she said, tipping her bottle towards him, "which I appreciated." He sighed dramatically. "I should've known you were only my friend for the free alcohol."

-o-

She practically shimmered in the water, splashing cleanly like a dolphin. "Jemma! Shhhh! I think I heard something!" If the specialists caught them in their pool, they'd have a lot more than freshman pranks to worry about. "Oh, don't be such a worrywart, Fitz." She bobbed up to him, pushing her wet hair back from her face, and Fitz thought he might believe in mermaids after all.

* * *

Simmons shrugged, somewhat at a loss. "You know me, Fitz - I've never dated anyone past, what, three weeks?"

"Seventeen days," he mumbled, unable to meet her eye. His hand came up, unconsciously, to scratch at the spot where his sideburn met his stubble.

She tried not to think about what it meant that he'd kept such a careful count of her boyfriends' shelf lives. She swallowed against the hurt that had been bubbling in her gut for months. "You see?" Spreading her hands as if it would communicate something she wasn't even sure of herself, she kept going. "I… honestly, why do you think I never propositioned you?"

They both knew there'd been any number of nights after they'd been to the Boiler Room and Fitz had helped her home, hand-in-hand and tipsy, leaning against each other as they walked back to her dorm. _It would've been the perfect excuse._ He coughed. "Er, y' just… didn't find me attractive? That's what I thought, anyway."

"Well, I do," she jumped in, almost before he'd stopped talking. "I always have. But I didn't want to do something when it might mean different things to us."

Fitz shook his head to stop staring. He made his lungs work long enough to ask, "And... now?"

* * *

**A/N:**

The first and second drabbles were posted for the "Spread Legs, Not Hate" movement on tumblr (after the FitzSimmons fandom was hit with anonymous hate).  
The first one is basically how I always feel when I try to write smut. I actually included some proper "smut" in my fic Gone Soft, and it was real hard to not try to be "funny" about it and try to actually make it sexy. I think it just makes me uncomfortable and so, for me, being dumb and making jokes is easier than trying to actually do something that people would enjoy or find hot in any way.  
I had the second one written up for a prompt starbrightnights helped me come up with at one point, but since I didn't think I'd write it (again, too smutty for my blood), I ended up sending the idea to onlytryingtohelp as a prompt for the "Spread Legs Not Hate" campaign. It was also making my eye twitch to try to write in present tense. No, thank you.

The third and fourth drabbles were just little 500-characters-or-less bits (thanks, tumblr ask length limits) that I came up with during the FitzSimmons Valentine's Day Exchange, in order to throw my Secret Valentine off the scent of what her fic was about.

And the last one is just a random plot bunny that had been rumbling around in my head. Who knows if I'll keep going with it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Rated G or T.**

* * *

**Staircase**

"But _why_ does your grandmother have so many dolls?"

Fitz looked warily around, grateful that from their vantage point on the staircase, all he could see were a few family photos on the wall. He'd had his fill of of porcelain clowns and weirdly anthropomorphic dog figurines for the moment. And, he expected, for the decade.

"Shhh," Jemma rebuked him, giggling into her tea. "They're collectibles. Let an old woman have her pleasures."

"They're _creepy_, Jemma," Fitz insisted through the steam curling up from his mug. "I swear one of them was tracking me with her eyes. Those dead, beady eyes." He shuddered and took a sip. "Don't suppose you know if there've been many violent deaths in this house?"

"Stop it," she laughed, nudging his thigh with her toe. The small scale of the steps meant they were quite entwined, a fact for which he blessed the original Simmonses who'd built the place. Jemma continued blithely. "The only thing haunted around here was the look on your face when Dad brought up our sharing a flat."

"Because he _happened_ to be showing me your grandad's old rifles when he said it! How would you feel if my mum started up with 'Jemma, hen, have y' seen my ninja throwin' stars, and by the by, what're your intentions with m' son?' You'd have spat out your soup!"

"Oh, please!" she protested, shifting on the hardwood edge and carelessly tossing her left leg over his right knee. Fitz sent up a quick thank-you to God for the existence of shorts. "Fitz, your mum knows I have only the noblest of intentions towards you."

"That so?" A playful spark crept into his stare as he balanced his teacup, resting his fingers along her bare thigh. Seriously, shorts were such a work of genius he wouldn't have been surprised to hear that Jemma invented them. His lip curled into a half smile. "You might want to remind your toes."

Jemma flushed and pulled her foot back from where it had very nearly become Biblically acquainted with his bits.

"Tsk tsk, Simmons. And in your family home, no less." He shook his head in mock disappointment as she hid her heated face behind her cup. "Really, what _would_ your ancestors think? They've got to be floatin' around here somewhere." He lifted his hand in an affable wave to no one and peered upward. "It's all right, Simmons ghosts. She has noble intentions."

"Shut it, you." Both her hands had wrapped around the mug, poorly stifled chuckles bursting through the gate of bottom lip and top teeth. "I'm trying to drink my tea."

* * *

A short little thing written for memorizingthedigitsofpi based on the wonderful photo manip she made of FitzSimmons on a staircase. Check her out on tumblr or AO3!

This one's pretty flirty but it could also just be them doing that thing where they're _obviously flirting_ as far as everyone else can see, but if you asked them they'd be like, "No, no, all best buddies touch each other's thighs like that. Jemma did it to me last year at the pool and it was no big deal. Totally platonic."


	5. Chapter 5

**Drabbles based off S2E16 and S3E02. Rated G or T.**

* * *

_Post 2x16_

"And Hunter's been after me to MacGyver him a retractable pistol sleeve from the drawer slide in our motel; said he saw it in a movie."

"What?" she hissed under her breath. Fitz was a genius. He'd unlocked the Toolbox in a _bathroom_, for goodness' sake, and Hunter had him taking apart _furniture_? "Couldn't he do that himself?"

Fitz chuckled, the sound surging through her chest. "You know how he is, though. Likes to think he's teachin' me something."

Fondness battled against the lead-lined worry in her throat. It had lodged itself there since the takeover, and only these brief, stolen conversations did anything to wash it down. "You're sure this line is secure?" Jemma's whisper rang nervous in the twilight of the Playground's hangar from where she crouched inside the Bus's wheel well.

"Positive." A pause. "Jemma, stop. No one's listenin' in."

Her relief fogged through the phone, like a building mist on the English countryside. "Well, I just— one can't be too careful, these days." Her fingers twisted at the inside seam on the knee of her jeans. "It's too quiet here now, without— without everyone."

A soft, amused breath echoed back into her ear. "Yeah. Yeah, 'everyone' here misses you too."

* * *

_Post 3x02_

Jemma tucked herself into his side, and he hugged her tighter with one arm, still staggered by the sheer relief that he wasn't, in fact, dreaming. In the 26 hours since they'd performed a miracle, he couldn't count the number of times his heartbeat had slowed and his breathing sped up, ragged, just from the sight of her.

His free hand reached up to grab their mugs, Jemma's favorite now front and center in the cabinet after so many months collecting dust. She sniffed gently against his neck and, lifting her face, rasped a word past her abraded larynx. "Cologne?"

Fitz blushed, optimistic that Bobbi's recommendation had panned out, and shrugged it off with a slight head wobble. "It's new. Made sense with the whole… grown-up, suit and tie… thing."

She shook her head. "Change it back," she pleaded, breath whistling out her tired lungs.

Fitz stilled where he was holding the kettle, poised to pour. _The cologne, or the wardrobe, or…?_

After a second, it didn't matter. Sure, Fitz had hoped she'd be impressed with his new maturity, and he might get an earful from Coulson about how the Head of the Science Division needed to maintain a professional demeanor, but so what? These were clothes, fragrances. _Trappings._ They didn't matter.

"Sure, Jemma. Whatever you need." He filled their cups and slid hers over the counter so she could comfort her fingers on the warm ceramic, but Jemma's gutted expression was lasered on him.

"It's not— it's fine at the moment," she swallowed, vocal chords straining. "But— it doesn't smell like you. I can't—" She gave up on volume in favor of clarity. He tilted his head, only just discerning her whisper over the refrigerator hum and the vents' unobtrusive whirr.

"You smell like home. Helps me sleep."

He remembered the day before, when she'd been practically glued to him since the castle, and he'd woken to find her wedged against his leg on the hard poly-tectic bench, a knot in his neck and a smile on his face. She'd startled awake a few minutes later, a scream in her eyes and arms like medieval weapons.

And, he also remembered, he'd never changed his clothing that night.

When she'd curled up against him, trusted him to help her feel safe, his clothes had still been overrun with the sharp grit and soulless scent of that godforsaken planet. Christ, he was such an idiot. _No wonder she couldn't stay asleep._

-o-

That night, freshly showered and scrubbed clean, Fitz slipped back into the quarantine bay and took his place on the bench, placing a rolled-up blanket next to the tiny airplane pillow he'd snagged from the Zephyr One. Jemma's cheeks twitched into a ghost of a smile, her gaze scanning his old Sci-Tech joggers and the faded Doctor Who T-shirt she'd given him a lifetime ago. And as her jaw cracked into a massive yawn, she scooted over to give him room, and held out her hand.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

So I haven't seen the new episode yet or read any spoilers (though I've only gotten vague impressions that I'm gonna like episode 3, and I'm excited!) so this might be way off, but I had these drabbles in my document and figured I'd finish 'em up and post before watching, because then, I'll probably be inspired to write another after I see 3x03!

The drawer/gun rail thingy is from the 1976 classic Taxi Driver. I imagine that after Hunter helped Fitz "shake a tail" he would be the type to impart all sorts of awesome superspy tricks to his new young protegé on the run.

As for the second one, I'm still sort of stuck on the fact that Fitz had never changed his clothes when Jemma slept on his knee. And I had this theory that she could probably hang out super close to Fitz because he smells familiar, and that would help her feel safe, and I can't speak to the PTSD aspect, but I imagine that Jemma's sense of smell was one of the ways she detected danger on the alien planet, and I wanted to do something with that. I just imagine Fitz all eager to please, wanting to impress her, putting on his new designer cologne that Bobbi or Daisy made him buy, and it just backfires. :-D

Hope y'all liked it!


	6. Chapter 6

For 0hcicero on tumblr. Happy birthday!

Warning! This chapter will contain:

talk of Space Boyfriend and this pesky love triangle business  
pro-Will (I guess? he's not a jackass or an evil mind-controlling planet or anything)  
FitzSimmons endgame, sorta  
ball-twisting angst on this one, you guys

Rated K+, probably.

No offense taken if you wanna skip it, that episode left us all a little raw.  
Otherwise, enjoy!  
:-D

* * *

She thought leaving for Hydra was the hardest thing she'd ever done. She was wrong.

The look on his face mushroom-clouds through her, breaking her heart as she watches it sink in. Fitz's hopes crumble on his cheeks, his throat clears into grit and it scours away her insides, leaving her hollow.

If she'd seen Will die, she could have kept it to herself, kept the guilt but spared the pain. She hates herself for considering it.  
No. She just hates herself.

(Six months he refused to give up hope. Six months, and all it took was her telling him about another man.)

Fitz, of course, is convinced she's moved on.

She hasn't - he's always been her first choice, even before she knew what she wanted - but how can she tell him that when all she's done in the past two years is abandon him, hurt him? How can she possibly _deserve_ to tell him that, she thinks, as she watches him turn to her, shoulders cracking like a ruined castle, and vow to get Will back?

It took her a year just to say, "Maybe there is."

When they bring Will back, it's the first time she's smiled since the dinner ruined by wine and blood and guilt. Will laughs, wraps her in his arms and calls her Professor, and tells her it's not the change in gravity that makes him feel like floating. Across the room, Fitz can't look at her, and her heart breaks again when she forces herself to smile.

(Technically, she and Will never broke up. He seems to think so, anyway.)

She's hurt Fitz too much to forgive, so when Will leans in without warning and kisses her, she pushes down the part of her that is screaming _this is all wrong_ and thinks, "Maybe I can make this work. I can at least try."

Later, she starts to say something to Fitz. An apology - _I thought about you every day, I wanted so badly to go to dinner, oh god, I'm sorry, Fitz, I'm so sorry_ \- or how she's not stopped feeling her guts are made of rocks and she's pretty sure it's because she's in love with one man and dating another. (So maybe things haven't changed that much since the planet.)

Fitz cuts her off. He's tired. He's been in flux for so long, he's not sure he can take any more revelations from Jemma.

"I'm happy for you."

He's got it all wrong, but what right does she have to correct him?

"I'm happy for you, Jemma. Just don't ask me to pretend I'm happy for me."

She tries to make it work with Will. She owes him that much.

The team, Coulson in particular, take to him immediately - he's funny, brave, fascinating by virtue of his situation. Will is their own extraplanetary Steve Rogers, a returning hero, a man removed from place and time.

But he's not the same person on Earth. Their common interests had always been staying alive and hoping for sunlight, and though his arms are still big, they no longer make her feel safe.

She can't stop watching Fitz. In the lab, in the common room, in the kitchen, he's everywhere. He keeps his distance (she has Will to hold her hand now, she thinks, that should be enough) but her heart breaks a little more every day under the stress of wanting Fitz. She wonders if Will can tell. She wonders if he ever couldn't.

They sleep in the same bed, because Will needs her, because he has nightmares too, because it's what they did before. Will is just _there_. All the time. When they were on the planet, his presence was a comfort, but now, it's a noose.

Jemma still gets nightmares, of course. (With her life, who wouldn't.)

Oftentimes she wakes to Will at her side and sneaks out before he can hear her. On those nights, she makes tea. Sometimes, she even makes her tea the way Fitz takes it. She tells herself it's because she could use the calories. She knows it's more than that.

One time, Fitz is awake too.

He rumples into the kitchen, startles when he sees her. (It's too late, she's seen him.)

She hands over the mug she was drinking from, and his eyebrows raise at the taste.

It starts with a joke, something silly, but they sit there, sharing the mug back and forth, and start to patch one of the thousand whistling leaks in their friendship.

It gets easier the more they practice.

In the following weeks there might be a dozen catalysts - a close call, a shrugged-off moment of heroism, or nothing in particular at all - but finally, Jemma breaks. She can't help herself. She's kept it locked in for so long and she was _so damned excited_ about their dinner before the world turned dark. She knows she's probably too late, but she can't keep going this way, held together with string and gum.

She ends it with Will. Her heart doesn't break.

She tries to say something then, but Fitz won't look at her (why won't he look at her?) and all she can manage is a hand on his hand, a head tilt towards the kitchen and a _same time tonight?_

When she gets there, in the dim hours of the morning when not even May is awake, Fitz is waiting. She fidgets, reminds herself of that day in the locker room, screwing up her courage to tell Fitz she loved him and barely eking out a different three words.

"I'd lost all hope of seeing you again." The words are still getting stuck, and she chides herself.

Fitz sits there, drinking his tea, eyes flicking between hers and the floor. Unreadable. "I know." He takes a breath. "I get it. He saved you."

"_You_ saved me, Fitz," she presses. And it's true. All she'd needed to get her hope back was a little burst of orange light. "And I know I have no right to ask, but I need to know if there's still hope now."

He holds out his mug. She takes a sip.

It's just the way she likes it.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I just want to make it _real_ clear right now that I do _not_ blame Jemma AT ALL for her actions on the other planet. Not even a little bit. I _do_ think that Jemma will blame _herself_ and put herself through the damn ringer, guilt-wise.

(Also I have a few more monolith / Hell Planet related drabbles from a few weeks ago, I just have to find them and make sure they don't suck? So hopefully I'll get the time to add those soon.)


	7. Chapter 7

These all take place in a bed. The first two are angsty and the last one not so much.  
G or T for the first two, T to M for the last one.

* * *

post 3x02

[written under the assumption Jemma was on the planet alone for 6 months]

They lay on Jemma's bed, snuggled close as the pajamas between them would allow, and Fitz trailed his fingers gently through her loose waves as she kept going. He wasn't about to interrupt her, not when she was opening up about her time on the planet.

It was only when a pause stretched a sliver too wide that he finally released the hobgoblin running around his own mind. "I'm sorry you had to go through that, Jemma." He sucked in a guilty, shuddering breath. "I'm sorry I took so long."

Her tortured attempt at a laugh puffed out over his chest. "Well, from what I heard, you were having a lie-in every morning."

Fitz closed his eyes against the tightening around his heart, his mouth curling at the corners. "Yeah, you got me."

And she did.

-o-

post 3x02

[same scenario, lying in bed while Jemma talks about the planet]

"I should've been there with you."

She stiffened then, pressing her hand into his rib cage to lever herself up and meet his eyes. "I'm glad you weren't." She held his gaze, steel on fire, even through the red halo of exhaustion that surrounded her now. "Fitz, if the rock had swallowed you with me, we _both _would have died out there."

He scoffed. "Nah. We're great at escaping certain death together; it's kind of our thing."

He could see it in her broken smile, how she wanted to chuckle, to tease him in response and go back to the familiar. But anything _normal _still felt about as far away as Jemma's latest vacation home.

"With you there," she murmured, bittersweet and beautiful, "I might have believed we could."

Fitz tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and watched the tears glimmer on her eyes. "Then I wish I'd been there."

"Fitz…" she sniffed wetly, dropping her face down into his shoulder. "You were."

-o-

post 3x05

[because denial, that's why. cracky and smutty]

Jemma thunked her head back into the pillow, swiping away a damp lock of hair where it had fallen into her mouth. Fitz's curly mop rested on her chest, sweaty and mussed and completely, totally welcome. She dragged her fingers down his neck. "That was nice…"

Fitz picked up his forehead from her shoulder and let out a gasping sort of laugh. "Yeah. Well, we're nice people, you and I."

"The nicest."

Truthfully, if she'd known this was was came of telling Fitz about her boyfriend troubles, she'd have started back at the Academy. For the moment, however, she was still riding on a wave of euphoria that had begun when Fitz _understood _. He understood, and he didn't judge her, and they were going to save a man's life together. She'd stood before him with tears crumpling her face, _terrified _for Fitz's reaction, _certain _she had just destroyed a decade - but he'd been the friend she needed and the man she wanted, and it gave her the courage to tell him so.

She pushed lightly on his arm until he flipped over, relishing the feeling of cool air on her bare skin. Unsticking herself from the wrinkled sheet, she lifted up onto her forearm and blew crisply across his torso, a respite against the desperate heat they'd created.

His eyes fluttered shut as her cool breath fanned over his collarbone, his abs, his stomach…

"I take it back. _That's _nice." He opened his eyes and smiled shyly up at her. "I should take care of this, though."

"Mmm." She kissed the salt from his upper lip, then rolled off. "But you'll stay?"

He pretended to debate, brow scrunched dubiously. "Eh…" he shrugged. He cracked into a giggle when she shoved at his legs.

"Go on, then." She held out her hands and pulled him to sitting. "I'll even walk to the toilets with you."

"Romantic."

"Mmm." Her lips met Fitz's again in a sweet bloom of feeling, pouring the last eleven years of herself into the kiss. No more secrets, no more doubts.

Just a woman.  
And a man.  
And a promise.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I wrote the first two pretty soon after they got Jemma back, because it seems so long ago now, but goshdangit, I was so flippin' excited that Jemma was back and excited for what it meant about her story, but we knew it was going to be about PTSD, and it was going to be angsty.  
But I also figured that Fitz would beat himself up for not rescuing her faster, because that's the sort of cinnamon roll Fitz is.  
Also, the stuff about losing hope and wishing Fitz had been there with her turned out to be oddly prescient for the actual script - darn! If only I'd posted it back then, I coulda been like, "Who's the _real_ Clairvoyant, Garrett? Huh? Punk?"  
:-D  
Oh, drabbles. So low-pressure. Thank you, drabbles.


	8. Chapter 8

**Post 3x17**

**Rated G**

* * *

"Oh!" Jemma's surprised exclamation prodded Fitz from where he lay against the makeshift cot. The glow of her phone screen lit her face in shades of blue, throwing him into memories of ocean floors and alien planets, his chest panging at her beauty.

"Wha's that? More bad news?" he mumbled, blinking slowly.

"Not exactly… your mother sent me an email." She turned to him, amusement smirking at the corners of her mouth. Suddenly he was wide awake.

_Oh no oh no oh god Mum what. _

"She seems to be under the impression we're engaged?"

_Crap crap why did I say anything it's barely been a day Mum why. _

"Okay, that's not…" he groaned, dropping his hands onto his face. "It was a_ two-minute _call! All I said was things were _good! _"

_Christ Almighty she does this every time worst wingman ever thanks Mum. _

"Not that I'm saying _no _, precisely, but I would like to have been consulted…" Jemma lifted an eyebrow, her smile stretching into her cheeks as Fitz babbled over her.

"Well I had to tell _someone _about us, didn't I, the SAT phone was _right there _, and with everything else that's happened…"

_Wait. Not a no? _

"Jemma." Fitz's mouth dropped open, his head rolling to face her as he linked their fingers together. "I don't expect…" He shook his head. "We've been running on fumes since before Giyera took control of the Zephyr, _and _we've got to figure out how to stop Hive from destroying our _entire planet _." He blew out a breath, a wry chuckle tinting the edges. "Not exactly the time to start planning a future."

"On the contrary," Jemma whispered, looking down at their hands. "I think, as long as we're saving the world, we should know what sort of future we're risking our lives for."

* * *

**This isn't much, but I just couldn't stop thinking that Fitz's mom would be THE MOST excited to hear about them finally getting together.**

**Also shoutout to agentcalliope on AO3 :-D**  
**(I was channeling my inner Doug for the stream of consciousness bits)**


End file.
